In 54 years covering the game, I only once felt that a greater power had
presided over a major championship to ensure just the right ending, in which the
forces for good emerged triumphant.
You may be surmising that I’m going to
discuss one of the myriad megadeeds of Tiger Woods. But at the risk of appearing
sacrilegious, the phenomenal golf skills of the world’s number one golfer
scarcely, if ever, require divine intervention to carry his days.
No, it is
the second Masters victory of Ben Crenshaw, in 1995, to which I refer. It is
silly to say he had no right to win the event, because he was still one of the
greatest putters ever. And Augusta National’s wide fairways could still
accommodate his wayward driving. But having missed three of four cuts prior to
that Masters, he was far from the favorite at the start of the week.
Crenshaw was eating dinner in the clubhouse Sunday night before the
tournament began when Tom Kite phoned to tell him that their longtime
instructor, Harvey Penick, had died at the age of 90 after a long illness. The
patriarchal pro had meant the world to both Texans growing up and had become
famous late in life for his bestselling Harvey Penick’s Little Red
Book.Crenshaw had visited Penick for his final lesson—the first had come
when he was 6—two weeks before the Masters, desperate about his putting. From
his sickbed Penick watched Crenshaw hit a few putts, then opined: “I want you to
take two practice strokes, and then trust yourself, and don’t let that clubhead
get past your hands in the stroke.”
Crenshaw and Kite flew to Austin, Texas,
on Wednesday morning to be pallbearers at Penick’s funeral, and returned to
Augusta in the evening. Crenshaw opened with a 70, then matched his low Masters
round with a 67 on Friday, leaving him tied for fourth.
Stationed as I was at
the 15th tower for the last time for CBS, I felt that Crenshaw, usually heart on
sleeve, grew increasingly calm with each successive pressure-packed day. One by
one during the final round his challengers largely fell apart as Crenshaw
appeared impervious to nervous tension.
It all came down to Crenshaw, Greg
Norman and Davis Love III. Playing five groups ahead of Crenshaw, Norman and
Love both had three-putt bogeys on the closing holes that sunk their chances.
Norman tied for third with Jay Haas, while Love’s 66—the best round of the
day—was good enough for second place.
Crenshaw earned himself a
two-stroke cushion with superb birdies at the 16th and 17th, a cushion he
needed. He missed the last green, chipped poorly and had to make an 18-inch putt
for bogey and a victory that I will forever argue was pre-ordained.
No one is
likely to forget the scene as Crenshaw threw down his cap and, elbows on his
knees, wept uncontrollably, with only his massive, wonderful longtime caddie,
Carl Jackson, holding him up. I never saw anything like it, or liked anything
more.
